


the kübler-ross model

by yonderdarling



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Wow cheerful, alcohol cw, face the raven spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-Face the Raven.  "The Kübler-Ross model postulates a series of emotional stages experienced by survivors of an intimate's death, wherein the five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance." There are two areas Missy exceeds the Doctor in. One is engineering. She's also surprisingly good at waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the kübler-ross model

**Author's Note:**

> I can't wait for this to be completely jossed in about three days time. Thanks to Ilana for all her help, and university for finishing so I can waste my time on Wikipedia. Kind of experimental in the sense I've been going through some family stuff in regards to what could be called unusual deaths.

 

 

 

 

 

> " _The Kübler-Ross model postulates a series of emotional stages experienced by survivors of an intimate's death, wherein the five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. […] Kübler-Ross noted later in life that the stages are not a linear and predictable progression and that she regretted writing them in a way that was misunderstood. Rather, these are a collation of five common experiences for the bereaved that can occur in any order, if at all. [...] Kübler-Ross later expanded her model to include any form of personal loss, such as the death of a loved one, the loss of a job or income, major rejection, the end of a relationship or divorce, drug addiction, incarceration, the onset of a disease or chronic illness, an infertility diagnosis, and even minor losses._" ([Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K%C3%BCbler-Ross_model))

 

**ANGER**

 

They square off in the choking, dirty quarry of some giant industrial planet she's working on ruling. The Doctor doesn't respond to her quips, dispatches her generals, silently tears her empire down with his bare hands. Follows her back to her TARDIS.

"Not again," he says, blocking the door from closing. "Don't do this again."

She turns, looks him up and down. "The evil scheme, or the skilful retreat back to my time machine?"

"Why not both," says the Doctor, and he looks so tired.

"Where's Clara?" Missy asks, and he looks even older. She forgets herself, reaches out to touch his face, and he flinches away.

Missy steps out of the TARDIS, folds her arms. The Doctor steps back, looks at his feet. The dust settles on their shoes, birds wheel overhead and in the distance sirens wail. It won't take this planet too long to rebuild. She'll do better next time.

"Do you remember when my daughter died?" Missy asks quietly.

"I remember." The Doctor looks up, meets her eyes. His are damp, red. He swallows. "I remember."

"I'll be seeing you, Doctor," she says, and opens her TARDIS doors again. "Don't break that promise."

The Doctor nods. He lets her go. 

 

* * *

 

 

**DENIAL**

 

Missy sends a coffee over to his table, which is a problem because he's invisible in this Starbucks and the barista has a very strange, slightly-mind-controlled look on her face. It's a further problem because, for all of humanity's ingenuity and ability and wonder, and all the concepts he'd rhapsodise on in his Tenth body, he's never liked Starbucks and doubts he ever will.

He gestures at Missy, still selecting a pastry, and she follows the coffee over with a muffin.

"This is morbid, even for you," she says, and sips.

"Clara died," he replies, and has to clench his teeth together. His hands curl into fists.

"Clearly," said Missy, looking at the couple sitting at the table by the window. "Is this where I say, I'm sorry?"

"It wasn't your fault. Congratulations."

"No, I mean. I'm sorry. For your loss."

The Doctor follows Missy's gaze to the table across the room - Clara and Danny, on an impromptu date in their early days. 

"This is morbid as hell," says Missy, and puts her hand over his. "Shouldn't you be setting fire to something or standing in the rain?"

"You know, I was just thinking about that," he says. "Why do we even say, I'm sorry, when we hear something terrible has happened? Too many cultures do that. I should write that down."

"I always thought it was because we're thankful such a thing hasn't happened to us. At least, not this time." Missy purses her lips, takes out a phone because the businessman sitting at the next table over has shot her an odd look. She presses it to her ear. "You're being ridiculous. Come somewhere with me. We'll go fight some Daleks."

The Doctor gives her a look like thunder. Across the room, Clara tucks her hair behind her ear, ducks her head to look at the table, laughs. Danny blushes, gingerly takes her hand.

"I may vomit."

"You can go," he says. "I didn't ask you here. How can you see me?"

"I can always find you," says Missy. "I could feel you moping from Neptune. Didn't our people have a word for this? I've forgotten. I mean, this is technically stalking, but there was a word for stalking a dead person up their timeline-"

"Leave me alone, Missy."

"That's what you are now, aren't you?" she puts her phone away, takes a few minutes to finish her coffee, not looking at him. Picks up her muffin and wraps it in a napkin. The receipt and empty cup she leaves on the table.

The Doctor sits through the entirety of the morningand lingers after Clara and Danny leave and part ways at the door. This also means he ends up unwittingly sharing the table with three backpackers from Melbourne.

"I hate it when people leave their shit on the table," says Backpacker One, poking at Missy's cup.

"Someone wrote on it though," Backpacker Two says. She flips over the receipt. "They might come back for it."

They leave Missy's cup on the table, stow their own rubbish in the bin nearby and leave, because the changing of the guard isn't going to watch itself. The Doctor slips the receipt into his pocket, hoping no-one in the crowded cafe sees a piece of paper vanishing into thin air.  

* * *

 

Recess at Coal Hill is at 10.15, and Clara always has yard duty on Tuesdays. He leans against the TARDIS and watches, visible again because of distance. 

Clara approaches.

"Heya," she says, and beams up at him. "You coming to sit in and criticise my Jane Austen bit again? You need to take me to meet her, then we'll see who's right and who's wrong about-"

"Just dropping by," the Doctor replies, around the lump in his throat. "I thought I detected some alien life forms in a house nearby. It turned out a family's dog was chewing on the TV remote and it somehow tuned in with the TARDIS."

Clara gives him a look. "And the dog's not an alien?" 

He shakes his head. 

"Hello," he says.

"Hello," she says. "Are you sure you won't come in?"

"Nah, nah. I'm meeting Martha in a bit, I don't want to get distracted. She doesn't like it when I'm late. I'll see you soon though."

"You better," Clara says. "This weekend?"

"We'll see."

A child starts shouting in the playground. Clara turns. "That's me," she says. "Bye, Doctor."

"Bye, Clara," he says, and watches her walk away, hair swinging with each bouncy step. 

The Doctor gets in the TARDIS, takes out the receipt. The numbers on the back would look a mess to anyone from Earth, but they're a phone number. He pins it to the scanner screen and takes off into deep space, loses himself in the workshop. The auxiliary stabilisers aren't going to repair themselves.

 

* * *

 

 

**DEPRESSION**

 

In a bar on Nixigix, Missy works her way through a bottle of excellent pink stuff, three glasses of excellent blue stuff, a jug of something clear that definitely isn't water, and three shots of what's probably not actually excellent but that clear stuff, turns out, was very very good.

"That's some impressive drinking you've done there," a woman notes, hopping on the stool next to her. 

Missy tries to focus on the holo-screen above the bar. She was fairly certain there were two of them, but she could see three and a half. 

"The Shadow Proclamation today released a warrant for the vandal or vandals unknown who destroyed the Time War memorial and garden overnight on the Orion Eye," the newsreader on the holo-screen entones gravely. "All security footage was later found to be blank and airspace record checks have proved to be fruitless."

"It's the Eye of goddamn Orion," Missy mumbles. "Love those positive. Ions."

"Life got you down?" asks the woman. 

She either has two heads of an average size or one massive one. Missy blinks, focuses. "Oh, you've got big hair," she says finally. "Nice."

"I like the updo," says the woman.

"I had a hat. Lost it," Missy says. "Can I buy you a thingy."

"I'll buy you a thingy," says the woman, gestures to the bartender who uses three of his tentacles to pour them glasses of something orange.

"Rough day?" the woman asks.

"I had to be a good person."

The orange stuff is average. The woman orders them more glasses of orange stuff. The second time it's less average.

"What about you," says Missy, and tries to focus on the woman. "You're all grubby. This is a nice place. Grub."

"I'm on a dig a couple of clicks away from here. And this place is semi-formal at best. Why are you dressed like Mary Poppins?"

"Grub. What's a Mary Poppins?" Missy says, and signals the bartender. "Can you turn the thingy up?" She points in the vague direction of the holo-screens. The bartender reaches over and does so. Missy squints at the news. 

"Huh," she says. 

"Shame about that," the woman says, pointing again with her left hand. There's a ring on her finger. Something strikes Missy as odd, but it's covered over by the pink stuff coming back. 

"Is that - the thing. The war memorial," says Missy. "Timey-wimey dingy-whingy war memorial. No more Time Lords, if I'm not careful. Hate that memorial."

"So did whoever wrecked it. Whole garden uprooted, the plaque shattered."

"They spelt Gallifrey wrong anyway. I want a green one, with lemons, and she'll have one too." Missy ignores the woman turning to stare at her. She counts to three, six, five. Avoids four. "And do you have any peanuts?"

"Delivery comes next week, we're out," says the bartender. "Do you want cashews?"

Missy makes a face. The woman taps her on the shoulder. Missy turns, nearly slides off her seat in the process. 

"So you can read Gallifreyan," the woman says slowly. 

"I'm an. A. An. Athriopologist." Missy says. She probably has been, at some point. "Antriphologist. Anthropologist. I got there eventually. Good one. Just, bad day." 

"I've never heard of you, and I probably should have then."

Missy shrugs. "'m not here on business. 'm here on pleasure." She focuses again on the woman. "Nah. You're married. Nah."

"That's a bit presumptuous." Her face says more amused than appalled, though, and Missy could press on. It's tempting. Her gaze falls on the holo-screen. 

Missy shrugs again, drains her glass. The woman hasn't touched hers, so she takes it and drinks that too, does try a cashew. She forces herself to think very, very hard for approximately thirty seconds. That's all the time she needs. The Doctor. Right. And then, the other thing. 

"I have to go do damage control," Missy says, sliding off her stool. "Good to meet you, Mrs Doctor Archaeologist, or whatever your name was. Is. Present tense." She's alive, now. Missy never was quite sure with River Song.  

She bounces off three walls in her attempt to leave the bar and ends up sleeping it off on a bench in a nearby park.

 

* * *

 

 

**BARGAINING**

 

"There's a hidden street of alien refugees," he blurts out. "In London. Headed by an immortal human."

"Hello to you too."

"Immortal human. A hybrid. My enemy, which makes her our enemy."

"My dear Doctor," and he can hear her smiling down the phone line. "Since when are your enemies my enemies? Your allies, more often than not, count among my rogues gallery."

"I - " he says. "The Daleks."

"They're the enemies of our people, in general. Doesn't count."

"The Time Lords."

"Twisted. I like it. Are there Time Lords on this refugee street, because I feel like that should be the headline news other than you running around creating Jack Harkness 2.0."

The Doctor watches the purple and yellow lights of the Nova-Prime Auroran Borealis, legs hanging out of the TARDIS into the infinite black of space below. "Ashildir helped lead to Clara's death. Used quantum locks. Clara took on the lock from someone else without Ashildir's knowledge."

"Doctor, by that logic the inventor of that technology, a'Canabell and his cronies on Saturn-Six, are responsible for Clara's death. That technology is fool-proof, watertight, a master of engineering and contracts. I've always appreciated it. Which leads to you apparently wanting to set me on a refugee camp."

"I don't want to set you on a-"

"Don't you dare lie to me, Doctor. If you want mindless, merciless and wholesale destruction, contact your arch-enemy Davros."

The Doctor sighs. Missy waits. He listens to the faint click-click-click of her nails against the phone casing.

"Did Clara have time to talk to you before she died," Missy asks quietly.

"Yes."

"She told you not to be angry. You get so steamed up over this. Humans die. Stars die. All beings die. Wives, husbands, children die."

"You're terrified of death."

"We are the exceptions that prove the rule. So," says Missy. "You don't want to set me on this refugee camp. Clara Oswald is dead because of a quantum lock. What could you need me for, apart from one of the many things I eclipse you in. Engineering."

The Doctor nearly hangs up, because she's figured it out. He steels himself. "Say yes."

"I am not building you a paradox machine." 

"You can fix this. Please."

"Nothing is broken, here. I'm happy to let Clara Oswald be dead. Mostly because it was meant to happen, not because you're unhappy now, or have much more free time. That's just a wonderful coincidence."

"You've made one before."

"I was insane then," Missy says, and sighs happily. "Things are always easier when you're properly bonkers. Now I've got a bit of - what's that human word, beginning with M?"

"I don't know. You're insane now."

"It's madness now, not insanity. I have plans. I have goals. Short, mid and long-term, and none of them involve paradox machines. One does involve a big lizard and Tokyo."

Last-ditch. "I love you," says the Doctor, and regrets it immediately. There's a sniff of derision on the other end of the line.

"Quite so," Missy replies, and the silence stretches into eternity. "Glad that's out there again. You're just an open book this time around, aren't you?"

"Missy, _please_."

"Talk soon, Doctor."

And she hangs up. 

 

* * *

 

 

**ANGER**

 

"That looks stupid enough when you do it with the screwdriver. The sunglasses just make you look like a ponce."

The Doctor turns, removes aforementioned glasses. "Leave me alone, Missy." He stops, stares. "You look awful."

Missy casts her gaze all about them. "I could say the same for this damn place."

The garden, once all orange and white and purple roses in interlocked spirals around a stone plinth, is destroyed. The memorial cyprus trees have been knocked down; the plinth itself is on its side. The Doctor puts his boot on the brass plaque that was once affixed to the stone and grinds the shards of it into the dirt.

"They spelt Gallifrey wrong," he says. The Shadow Proclamation never properly learnt the language of the Time Lords, mostly because the Time Lords refused to teach them. "They could have _asked_. I helped them enough damn times for them to at least _ask_."

"I," Missy says, and for a second thinks she's going to throw up. "Think you should get back on the TARDIS. The Shadow Proclamation are on their way."

They blink at each other. 

"Usually I say that," says the Doctor. His hands are covered in dirt and blood. 

"Destruction isn't going to bring her back," Missy says, and the words feel strange in her mouth. "As simple as it might feel, now."

"You're sick," says the Doctor. "Not your normal kind of sick, what's wrong with-"

"Get on the TARDIS and fly away Doctor, a temper tantrum isn't going to bring her back," Missy snaps. "I'm not enjoying being the responsible one here." 

And then she does throw up. It's purple, mostly. In the distance, they can suddenly hear the tell-tale whine of Shadow Proclamation Security ships.

"What the hell, Missy - " the Doctor growls, grabs her by the upper arm and bundles her towards the TARDIS, leaves her by the doorway as he hurries towards the console. Takes them into deep space. "Did you bring them here?" She steadies herself against the wall, shakes her head, and he sighs. "Like I don't have enough to deal with right now."

"I met your wife too," Missy says, and swallows. False alarm. "Nice lady."

"Don't talk to me," the Doctor says.  

* * *

 

They both end up in the infirmary, Missy sitting on the bed and working her way through the re-hydration pills and a dim-sim, the Doctor washing and trying to bandage his hands. He's consistently failing.

"Come here," says Missy finally, and the Doctor gives up and stands resolute as she washes her own hands. Disinfects his cuts, covers them in bandaids. She splints his left ring finger.

"You're not usually a tantrum thrower."

"You should have seen me after you told me Gallifrey was back," the Doctor says, and his lip curls.

 He leaves her in the infirmary, legs swinging as she sits on the bed, and though she stays on the TARDIS for the next few days, the Doctor remains out of sight. 

 

* * *

 

 

**DEPRESSION**

 

Missy saves Earth from the Daleks. She thinks she expected it to feel good, but she just feels dirty. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she finds the TARDIS in a back-alley on some backwater planet and bashes on the door.

A man in a bowtie answers, all floppy hair and confused smiles. He frowns when he sees Missy, sensing something is wrong with the space-time continuum here.

"Hm. Wrong Doctor," she says, and presses her fingers against his forehead. 

Taken by surprise - there's no point guarding against a mental attack if you believe yourself to be the last of your race - he crumples to the ground. She drags him back into the TARDIS, props him in bed, lets herself out, shuts the door again. Turns and checks her tracker. _Oh_. 

The next planet is practically the same - the diesel fumes seem a little worse, the sulphur content lower - but the Doctor doesn't answer the door. Missy forces her way onto the TARDIS to find the Doctor sitting in his mopey armchair in the console room. He looks tired and like he's fast approaching 3000 years, hands steepled in front of his face.

"I phoned you," she says, striding up the stairs. "Daleks. Attacked earth. I was there, got caught in the middle of it. I had to save the damn place instead of destroying it myself." She neglects to tell him that for the umpteenth time, London Bridge has most certainly fallen down, along with the one in Sydney Harbour and a good chunk of the Tokyo Metro System. The Grand Canyon is now more of a Small Ditch. "Where were you?"

The Doctor looks up at her as if he's just noticed she's there.

"Daleks, Daleks everywhere. I had to team up with UNIT." Missy says. "Kate Stewart _thanked_ _me_. Her father must be rolling in his - Cyberman suit. She asked after you."

"Thank you," the Doctor says finally. His finger is still splinted. "You didn't have to do that."

"Is this a regular thing, when one of yours leaves," Missy says. "You sit on some dirty planet moping around and building little gadgets that do nothing-" she points at a small perpetual motion machine sitting on the bookshelf, "no wonder you're so grouchy this time. I'd get so _bored_."

"Clara is dead, she didn't leave," the Doctor says. 

"You're splitting hairs. They always leave, or," she affects a kicked-puppy look. "Find someone better, or leave because they should. You need to stop playing with the Earthlings, Doctor. At least meet up with some Aluidniar, they're long lived and tough-skinned. Can breathe underwater."

"If you think you're helping, you're not helping," the Doctor picks a book at random off the shelf and opens it. 

"I'm not saving that stupid planet again. That's not how this works. You need to be on the lookout. I heard you declared yourself its protector while I was languishing in the Time War. Priorities."

"I never asked you to save the damn planet."

"You'd be in even worse shape if I hadn't," Missy says, and the Doctor nods, probably without even realising it. She softens, reaches out, touches his shoulder. He looks at her hand in astonishment. "You have my number," she says.

"I won't call."

"You will," she says. "I'm good at waiting."

 

* * *

 

 

**ACCEPTANCE**

 

He's been to human funerals before, and Time Lord funerals and both are very different, with the same purpose. He wears a tie and sits at the back of the hall, which is crowded with Clara's friends, family and students. Clara's father doesn't know who he is and doesn't really care; the Doctor shakes his hand anyway.

Courtney Woods stops him on his way out after the service.

"Oi, Doctor. You right?" she asks, strangely scrubbed up and clean in a new black dress and non-scuffed shoes.

"How are you?" he asks.

"As to be expected," she says. "My mum says we just need time. Do you have a mum and dad? A wife?"

"I've got," says the Doctor, and he has a list, but he also doesn't have a list. A photo of Clara surrounded by flowers smiles across at him. In the corner, Rigsy, out of place with no connections to most in the crowd, nods to the Doctor. "I've got people. You don't need to worry about me, Disruptive Influence. I'll be seeing you. Be good." 

The crowd presses in on him, his collar grows tight and he moves outside into the cool London air. The street is damp, relatively empty. Relatively. Missy is outside, in RayBans and leaning against a lamppost. She nods to him. 

"I'm going to my TARDIS," he says, and starts walking. Missy follows.

"Do you go to all their funerals?" she asks, and he pauses. 

"I try."

"That's morbid," she says, and he assumes that's her trying to be supportive. "Are you okay?" He assumed right.

"Clearly not," he says, and turns down a side-street, into an alleyway. "I said, leave me alone."

Yet he leaves the door open, and Missy follows him inside. 

"She's dead, Missy. I want to be alone. If you're here to steal the TARDIS, go right ahead. I put the controls back on isomorphic the second I realised you were back. I'm going to get changed." 

The Doctor walks off into the halls of the TARDIS; Missy removes her jacket and takes a seat on the edge of the console and waits, crossing her legs at the ankle. She sits for ten minutes, paces for another ten. Gives up, strides into the back rooms of the TARDIS and bypasses the wardrobe area completely. The Doctor's room is where it always is - if you know where to look. He lies on the edge of his unmade bed, tie loosened but not unknotted. His face is wet. Missy raps her knuckles on the doorframe.

"Do you know what alone means?"

"Theoretically," says Missy, and comes in and undoes his tie, puts it on his bedside table. Sits on the bed next to him. "Practically, I know it's probably not the best thing for you right now."

The Doctor turns his back on her, moves across on the mattress. Missy removes her brooch, puts it on top of his tie. She shifts so she's lying down too and presses her chest against his back.

"Don't get mud on my linen," the Doctor says, his voice reverberating in her chest.

"You're the one wearing Doc Martens."

"It's my bed," he says, and his voice is thick.

"It's okay, Doctor," she says. 

"Why do you care so much this time," he says. "This isn't - how you are now."

"I'm uncomfortably aware we're the only two left." Missy presses her face into his back, closes her eyes. "And you're my friend. You did the same for me."

The Doctor lets out a shaky breath, and takes in another. 

"She's dead, Missy, and I had to watch it happen," and that's when the sobs start. "I couldn't - and it still feels like my fault."

Missy wraps her arm around his chest, holds her hand between his hearts, makes the occasional quiet murmur. The sobs rack his thin frame and she presses her hand against his ribs. The Doctor falls asleep eventually. She waits. 

 

* * *

 

 

**AFTERMATH**

 

"Do you remember when my daughter died," Missy says, and she's been drinking, and doesn't normally do that. Or maybe this body does.

"I remember," says the Doctor's voice down the phone.

"I remember all the things you did for me. Did I ever thank you for that?"

"Have you been drinking, Missy?"

"…yes." Missy leans her head against the wall of her own TARDIS. "Thank you."

"Where are you?"

"TARDIS. Ukraine, 300 BCE." She starts reeling off the coordinates without thinking.

"I know," the Doctor says. "I remember."

She can hear his TARDIS dematerialise and materialise on the phone and outside her own TARDIS. She hangs up and meanders outside, locking the door of what now looks like an interestingly shaped tree.

The Doctor does a double take. "I forgot they do that," he says. The familiar blue box remains a blue box. Missy smiles, blinks.

"Why are you drinking?" he asks.

"I - " says Missy. "Yes. I was in a bar on Betelgeuse V, you know, the one with the dogs with no noses, and this guy challenged me to a drinking contest. I think." She shoves her hands in her pockets. "So it's a why _was_ you drinking, Mistress, not why _are_."

"Did you win?"

"I think I saw them taking him to hospital, so. Probably." Missy starts walking east, away from the sun, and the Doctor follows her. "You know, Clara was your only companion who knew I had children? So far, anyway."

"She mentioned you told her that. She was appalled, to be honest."

Missy snorts, stumbles on a tuft of grass. The Doctor takes her by the upper arm, steadies her.

"I liked Clara," she admits, and puts her hand over the Doctor's. He laces their fingers together, so they're walking hand-in-hand. "You know, a given value of like. She was amusing. I like the ones that talk back."

The Doctor squeezes her hand. They crest a hill in knee-high grass, come across a tall pine tree standing solo amongst the grass and a few boulders. Missy takes a seat on another boulder that was placed there just for that purpose.

"I got you something," she says. Hands him a pinecone that she was keeping her pocket.

"I don't suppose you bought a shovel," the Doctor says, sits beside her. He takes it, runs his fingers over the ridges.

"I'm your friend Doctor, I'm not a goddamn charity." Missy bumps her shoulder against his. "Go on. Next to mine."

The Doctor holds the pinecone in his cupped hands, looks up at the tree again. "Missy, that one is for your daughter."

"Clara. Was important to you. She was your family." Missy taps her heels against the stone. They make a clicking noise. "I saw you. You were being Doctor dad. I haven't seen Doctor dad in millennia. I missed him. Come on now. Don't cry."

The Doctor wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. Steels himself. "Clara has a headstone."

"Well now she gets a tree."

The Doctor sits for a few more minutes, turning the pinecone over in his hands. He lets out a breath. Missy watches him stand, stride to a few metres over from the other pine. The Doctor kneels, digs a small hole in the ground and places the pinecone carefully in the dark earth. He covers it over.

"I don't suppose you have any water?" he calls.

"I only have vodka," says Missy. "What? It's the Ukraine."

He gives her a look.

"It will grow," Missy says. "I picked today specially. It's going to rain later. We can wait." 

The Doctor turns his back on her, bows his head in silence over the freshly turned earth. Missy looks up at the sky. There are birds. After an eternity and a second, she stands and crosses to the tall, verdant pine and places her hand on the trunk. 

They wait until it rains. 

 

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [dark star alloy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172087) by [procrastinatingbookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm)




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